Dark angel
by wcnhedablake
Summary: This story is not about S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra. This story is not about heroes and their fates. This story began a long time ago, when honor was still alive among people. This story is about a little girl who has never wanted to interfere in world conflicts. Her only desire was for this war to be over.
1. No one, nowhere

I don't see dreams for a long time now. If something comes to my mind, it's always home. A peaceful time when I didn't have to fight for my life and for the lives of others. The time, when I and everything, that mattered to me, haven't yet turned to ash.

I don't like these visions — they distract me, make me upset, and mostly, remind about what I am trying to hide far, far away. Sometimes they still get out, but during these moments I am happy and trying to enjoy these brief little minutes of time.

My commander used to say that the heart of a soldier is an irreconcilable flaw. Take it away, and everything will go away with it: fear, pain, guilt... love. I would like to follow my commander's advice, but, unfortunately, I don't have him with me. I don't have anybody with me. I am left alone.

I wake up from the sharp noises of a metal lock. Something is happening, and this something doesn't seem like a usual evacuation training. The floor was reflecting with the dozens of heels, that were knocking the valse right above my cell.

I swallow the dusty aftertaste from my tongue and lift the knees closer — there're still bruises from the last torture. It was a long time ago when they let me out for a task last time — the body is getting out of the habit to walk. Since they figured our small venture, we are not allowed to see each other anymore.

My brain is thinking slowly, when I understand that somebody walked into my four walls.

A man's figure imprints on the flickering lamp's background. I don't know his face, and to be honest, don't want to. He quickly comes closer and, without saying anything first, hits my ribs with his boot. I spread out on the floor coughing and seizing air with my mouth. My sight darkens. He hits again and again and again. When I'm ready to faint, he grabs my ripped shirt and shakes above the ground. My tiny figure seems to be just a feather for him. He slaps my cheeks several times as if bringing me back to life, then his knuckles strike my temple. The hit throws the air out of me, I start suffocating, fall to the floor without feeling any pain anymore.

Through the dark vail of pulsating blood in my brain, I hear his voice:

"It's a pity we have to say goodbye to you, really," now I recognize him. It is the guy who left the bruises on my knees nearly breaking my legs. It happened when they decided I had a chance to escape. "But we do not want you to tell all our secrets if you get caught."

Only now I hear the sirens. It all seems clear now. He is scared — just like all the soldiers here, at the base. I smile sloppy without even wiping the blood off my lips.

"When I get caught," I barely whisper with a growing fear inside.

Despite fake bravery, the anxiety is beating in my body. To get from one organization to another is not the best of my possibilities. I try to crawl away from the man, only to cover myself from his fists and boots, but I can't. He hits the ribs again, then the knees. I yell with tears. The pain drives from the forehead through the spine to the heels.

I am waiting for the last strike, that will finally finish all the suffering, that will give me peace, like a remission from all my sins.., but it doesn't follow. Opening my eyes carefully and clearing my brain, I hear more, than I see, the shaking man's body and then, a small dark box that is emanating blue lighting. An electroshock. The body falls beside me.

The one who attacked the base, reached me. And I don't know whether I should be happy or fear.

My body stopped following my orders. In the last second before fainting, I see an inclined face. Somehow I seem to know it. Grayish hair covers a part of the curls now, the red lipstick becomes faded, but the eyes... the eyes are still the same — brown and courageous as in the first day I saw her.

"Agent Carter..." I whisper and, not believing my eyes, fall into oblivion.


	2. The ghost, 1974

The sounds of peeping monitor are aching in my beat of the heart. I am alive. Every time it is tougher and tougher to believe that.

I slowly open the eyes and find myself in a completely white room. A white coverlet, white curtains, white shelves, even flowers in the vase are white too.

In a moment this contrast catch my eye — the white room and a bright-red lipstick on her lips. She's wearing an office suit that fits her unexpectedly well. Piercing grey in the hair softly lies on her shoulders. First wrinkles appeared on her face.

I swallow and turn my head giving her a sign. The woman immediately gets up from a chair and darts to me.

"Where am I?"

The woman, who turns to be Peggy, warmly smiles at me and takes my hand.

"You're in New York. In a hospital. You're okay."

She lowers her gaze as if feeling afraid to ask something.

"Izzy..."

"What is it, Peggy? Just spill it out."

"Were you really in captivity... all these years?"

"Yeah, all these years. But, not really how you think."

The woman sharply recoils, a professional hesitation flickers in her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

I got up on the elbows in the bed and looked around the room. Since I was let out the last time, many things have changed.

"What year is it? What happened?" I ask without answering her question.

"Seventy fourth," Peggy replies mechanically shaking her head. "But..."

"I need to see home."

"You are, probably, kidding me," she said getting up and pacing in the room. "You were at Hydra since forty fourth all this time and the first thing you want to do is visit home?"

"Yeah, imagine it," I snapped suddenly. "You know, I didn't really have a chance to send them a postcard saying that I can't come back from the war."

I sit and try to move the legs. The knees, that are seen outside the hospital shirt, still hurt and are covered in bright purple blurs. Below I see red bruises.

"I'm going now."

"Okay," Peggy gives up. "I'll drive you. Just promise me. When we get back, you'll tell me everything."

She impressively looks at me from behind the perfectly shaped brows.

"Everything."

"Good," I sigh. "Promise. And now, find me some clothes."

She walks out of the room carefully closing the door, and I notice a security guard at the entrance. They don't seem to trust me. Well, I don't blame them. They will have even more reasons for this when I'll tell Peggy _everything._

The memories flash behind my eyes: screams, pain, dead soldiers, bodies, blood. I sharply bend in half closing my eyes and covering my ears with the palms. But nothing can save me from my own demons. They live deep in my head and nobody has ever got a possibility to expel them. Well, almost nobody.

Peggy quickly comes back with female long trousers and a blouse of not my size. I realize that has already forgotten what it feels like to wear normal clothes. The last thing I remember is a warrior costume. Completely black to cover myself in the darkness.

I wear it fast and we go out at the street. In the first second I get stunned, people were running at the streets hurrying for their own business. The clothes haven't changed much, but something is different. Now I completely lose the confidence in my strengths, I get scared to be alone in the crowd. And their looks at my huge bruise at the chin only make this feeling worse.

A beautiful red auto, that fit Peggy so much, quickly carries us through the streets leaving only the gas behind. I sit with my head at the back of a leather chair and look in the window. Now, when I'm free, I don't really believe it. I guess, that's why I can't react truly. It's like falling into a shock when no joy, no sadness is possible. And until I get out of that shock, I won't be able to feel life again. Every second it feels like in the next moment another soldier will jump out of the corner and will hit me at the ribs because they had a cold coffee in the morning.

Peggy is silent all the road, like the words couldn't form in her head. I understand her. After spending thirty years in a cell, you learn to save the words until you really need it. But I get a feeling like my mood will come back soon. For Isabelle Brittain to be upset for a long time? My brothers would laugh at me. Or no, probably, we would all laugh together. With Peggy and everyone who came back.

I suddenly feel like I want to know everything, to ask her what has happened, but I don't have guts to. Has Steve become world-famous? How is Howling Commandos? Do they remember _him_? The last question I want to say especially strong, but I can't. The time is not right yet.

Finally, the car stops near a small greeny house in the center of Brooklyn. I peer in the windows hoping to see familiar faces. The heart skips a beat when I get out of the car and run on the porch.

But Peggy's voice stops me.

"Izzy, wait! I don't think you should go inside..."

"What are you talking about?" it seems to me, that I nervously smile.

"This house no longer belongs to your family," she says without a smile. Peggy didn't say it out loud, but her eyes... oh, her eyes were speaking by tlemselves. "Look in the backyard."

Something inside me suddenly breaks. I harshly dart from the porch and run to the backyard already knowing what I will find. And I still don't believe it, just can't.

Yes, I spent thirty years in captivity, I was tortured, was made to do things I'm afraid to talk about, but my family is the thing I was not ready to lose.

And I lost it anyway.

My legs bend, I feel pain in the knees when they meet the grass. Three gloomy graves look at me — the mother and brother-twins. Everything I had. My world, my love. Destroyed.

The shroud of tears appear in my eyes, lips shatter, I cover my mouth with the hand, I don't have any strength anymore.

I don't hear Peggy's steps at all. I feel only the warmth of her hand on my shoulder.

"How?" I breath out. "When?.."

"Fred and Mike in the beginning of the forty fifth. Just a little bit until the end of the war. And your mother... I guess, she couldn't bear their loss. And then, you didn't come back, and she just died from sorrow."

I remember mother's face, warm and kind, her brown eyes — just like my own. And dark curls falling to her shoulders. People used to say that I'm her copy, because the fragile figure, the eyes, the face, the hair's color was the same for us. Even the voice was alike.

"I could have saved her," I stop crying. "I was alive. Alive! And she didn't know it! Damn it!"

I sharply hit the ground with my fist. I don't care if anybody hears. Who can live in this house anyway? It belongs to my family — belongs to me.

"Come," Peggy whispers kindly getting me up on the legs. "Come, I'll help you."

She takes me to the car and we head back.

"Maybe, if you tell me, you'll feel better?" she says. "You'll see, you just need to rest. Just get back to normal."

I feel practically nothing, just stare at the window and keep silent. Emptiness is the one thing that's left inside me. Nothing else is there. My family is dead.

* * *

A/n: how do you like the story so far? It also will contain some references to "Agent Carter" tv-show and future marvel movies.


	3. The porcelain, 1943

A/n: the first time jump. Hope, you don't get lost and enjoy it!;)

* * *

This is the year when everything has changed. My mother after father's death dreams of making me a lawyer. She sends me to study in a prestigious college, does everything she possibly can to support my perfect future, sometimes even forgetting about the twins. But Fred and Mike are not offended, they love their little sister so much.

Though, I can't stay long in college. On my first year, when I just turn eighteen, the war starts. My brothers are among the first ones to sign up for the troops of fourty first. The war turns out to be a disasterous punch in the world's face, but college stays exactly the same. I can not stay long in that fake place and after two years leave without saying anything to my mother. I pack quickly and sign up for a random nurse volunteering at Italian fronts and in spring am sent there.

That how, luckily or unfortunately, I turn out to be in this forgotten by everyone place, in the middle of two worlds, where there is no place for _Homo sapiens._ The second I jump off the rover, where we, nurses, are carried, the sense of blood, sweat and fear hit me in the nose. The long mourns of wounded soldiers can be heard, women in bloody dresses dart through built wooden paths not to drown in mud after the rain.

For the first time in my life I feel bewildered. Firstly, I'm here all alone. Nobody is around to help me. Secondly, I've never done medecine before. Everything, that is connected to it, is unfamiliar to me. I'm not afraid of blood, like all rich girls, but the sight of chopped off limbs is not exactly a pleasant view for me.

"Stop freezing out here!" the stout woman from the crowd shouts to me. She quickly darts to me holding a basin with bloody water in one hand and wiping the other hand with her dress and catching my label (it was attached to my shoulder in New York with the directions if I forget). I instantly notice her deep wrinkles and tired eyes in the occupation of a grey haired mutch.

"Brittain, right?" the woman said.

"Yes, ma'am," I bow my head.

"You're under my command," she sighs tired and turns her back on me suspecting that I'm following her. "Cover this nest of hair on your head, and I'll show you everything.

I almost squeak my teeth predicting their attitude towards me already. Quickly making a ponytail of my dark hair, I hurry after the woman. She enters one of the houses that, I guess, is for wounded.

And again, I have to fight the feeling of throwing up. The scent of rotting flesh, alcohol and blood is floating in the air, and stuffy air only strengthens it.

"My name is Greta, but you'll address me as Mrs Napkine. You work sixteen hours a day, the rest of it you sleep with other nurses. Any call, and you're here. Never break my order," with these words she turns to me and watches me carefully. "Here are too many lives on a con to risk it, not your future career."

I am taken aback.

"What is that supposed to..."

"I've seen a lot like you, girl!" Mrs Napkine interrupts me going further in the room. "You think this is romantic, to cure soldiers in hospitals. This is not a hospital. We do not cure soldiers, we bury them. So, if you're not ready to deal with it, you better walk away while you still can."

I frown listening to her. Coming here I was suspecting they will reproach me with my mother's status. But I came anyway. And I can't give up now.

"I'll deal with anything," I say firmly.

Mrs Napkine squints looking at me and then, shakes her head.

"Let's live and see what happens," she showed me metal instruments and bandages. "We're short on everything. Including surgeons. Sometimes we have to saw off the limbs ourselves. No limits to bandages, but painkillers are only from my permission. They send only three boxes a month. And that's for fourty two men!

Now I think that in truth, this Napkine is all the same person. She worries too, hurts too. She just doesn't show it often. There is no place for feelings at war. I knew this while coming here. And still, can't get over the feeling that something haunts me. Fear, maybe. Or hope.

I quickly get the uniform — a blue dress with a white apron as if specially identificating red spots. It still has someone's blood on it. In our house a few nurses are darting from place to place; I count four at last. They are young and quite pretty for such a place. I don't know what made them exchange their peaceful life in America for their life here. While thinking, I don't know why I did it.

Quickly getting used to the environment, I start to help with plate and forceps, bandages and warm water. But I want more. And finally, I get the chance. Napkine, opening the doors for coming soldiers, shouts:

"Brittain! Take this one!"

I immediately get up from another one and see the body that is carried inside. Soldiers put him on a free berth and hurry to get back for fresh air.

I go closer and look at the wounded. His whole body is covered with dirt, he faintly mumbles choking with his own blood. The stream of red liquid is running from his neck. I quickly sit near him and try to close the wound with a clean piece of bandage. But this doesn't help. In a second my hands get covered in blood, he continues mumbling, shaking his head around, with his furious eyes looking at everything. Then, his glance stops at me and he barely whispers:

"Lost, we lost..."

I try to hear more, but can't take apart anything else. Suddenly, he freezes, still staring at me with glass eyes. I feel sick, like it's hard to breath, with back side of palm I smear his blood all over my face without knowing. My hands are shaking. It is the first time I see a man die. The tears stand in my eyes. I try to get myself handled, deeply breath in and loudly breath out. My first patient is dead — not a bad start.

Napkine sits near the soldier and touches his dirty hand.

"His soul is in a better place now," she says quietly. "Don't worry about him, Brittain. Better get up. You have plenty of work."

That's how I get why she told me, we only bury men. This is the truth. For this day I get six soldiers. None of them last an hour.

To the end of the day, when the darkness is descended on the ground, I am walking tired between the beds, trying to find any face that can recognize a human being.

Little by little, nurses are leaving the house. It is their time to sleep. In half an hour a new shift will come. Even Mrs Napkine heads to the exit.

"You better get off now, Brittain," she screams to me. "You'll have your time to work. Can't say the same for sleeping."

I only shake my head, continuing to stand in the dusk of a bad-lighted room. My appetite is lost after all these scents, I guess, I had one glass of water during the day. The legs are breaking from tiredness. But most of all, I pity myself. I really believed I can help, can save someone. But turns out, I'm really only a keeper of a graveyard.

I hopelessly sit on the edge of a bed hiding my face in my bloody hands. I don't care anymore how I look. The war doesn't see any difference: whether you're pretty or ugly, it'll hit you anyway. For a moment it even seems like the room is absolutely silent, without any sounds or screams.

Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. I dart there without even thinking. New nurses are not here yet, I have to help the upcoming wounded. Without any hope, I open the door.

Two soldiers stand in front of me. On their shoulders I see their comrade, he is, probably, unconscious.

I quickly step aside letting them enter and showing them a free bed. They let him down carefully and stand in the entrance while I start to look at him.

"Save him, nurse," one soldier says loudly. I turn around and look him in the eye. "He's a good man."

"I'll try."

They exit, closing the door. I bring the gauze and, after putting it in alcohol, try to find a wound. His whole uniform is splashed with clots of dirt, I can't really identify the face, though I can say he's still young. Dark hair is wet from sweat. Under the eyelids I see his pupils moving. On his left shoulder a huge spot is forming.

As quickly as possible I cut the cloth getting closer to the wound. A little experience shows itself, my hands are shaking, I barely avoid touching his injury with scissors.

Abruptly, the tears show in my eyes, and I can't even understand why. Something tweaks in my nose, I start to sob. _He is alive._ Wounded and suffering from pain, but alive. My first patient that I can actually save. The feelings are overwhelming, I don't notice dropping tears from my cheeks.

I strongly enclose the gauze to the wound. The soldier twitches and blinks, coughing.

"I haven't died just yet, why are you crying?" he is surprised, suddenly looking at me. Under the dusty eyelashes I see eyes of the sky color. "Don't cry. You'll see, I'll recover."

He smiles. And I stop sobbing. His smile is practically magical, or maybe, I just miss the real human smile.

"But, if you don't mind, I'd like some help with the bullet," he reminds me softly. "I can't get it out by myself."

I laugh quietly and head to the instruments. This guy is bleeding, but smiles to make me laugh, not to let me cry.

The bullet is stuck inside, just near the bone. But, before I can reach the skin, he strangely grabs my hand with strength.

"Let's make a deal," he says. "You won't cry over soldiers anymore, and I'll lie quietly while you do the operation."

"You'll have to, anyway," I smile coldly. "And you know it."

"I also know you promised to protect soldiers at any cost..." he makes a pause. "At any cost, except your tears. I can't handle women crying.

This man is honest. I can see it in his eyes. He really doesn't like to see them crying.

"Well, soldier, you better get used to it," I clap my tongue. "You're at war."

"Ok, but also, tell me your name," he squeezes his teeth from pain when my forceps touch the skin.

"Why do you care?"

"I care because I don't really trust strangers to delve into my body," a smirk crosses his face.

I smile warmly. Some feeling make me feel him, as if he knows what to say exactly.

"Isabelle Brittain."

"Ok, Izzy. Thank you. I'm James Barnes. But people call me Bucky..." he hesitates from pain for a second, but than in one breath says. "If I make it, remind me to get you for a drink."

In this moment I start an operation, and he grabs the mattress hard not to scream.


End file.
